


The Interplay of Desire And Shame

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: The Interplay [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, Frotting, Gangbang Fantasy, Genderfuck, M/M, Oral Sex, Podfic Welcome, Rape Fantasy, Shame, Size Kink, Telepathy, Temperature Play, Vaginal Sex, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 13:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: “You said that reading someone's mind was like listening to music from a different room. How is it like exploring the dusty corners?”“You're thinking about it too literally."“How literally should I be thinking of it, then?”“I don’t fucking know."





	The Interplay of Desire And Shame

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, thank you to my ever patient beta, Cinco! <3

Shane didn’t drink that often.

Mostly, it was the telepath thing. When he drank he got cuddly and affectionate, which usually resulted in skin to skin contact, which… well. There was also the problem that alcohol made Shane’s metaphorical barriers a _lot_ weaker, which usually wasn’t fun for anyone. If Shane did any drinking (beyond tasting someone’s beer) it was usually by himself, in his own apartment. It fit the stereotype of telepaths, but… eh. He was a lot more social than most telepaths, and most telephasiacs knew that telepaths didn’t drink much. 

But his parents had sent him a bottle of bourbon as a birthday gift. His _favorite_ bourbon, too, the kind that was forty bucks a bottle and had notes of vanilla and oak. And then Ryan had come over and he’d seen the bottle of bourbon on the table, and well, good bourbon shouldn’t be consumed alone, should it? So they’d shared it, pouring glass after glass until Shane was more than three sheets to the wind. Four sheets? Five?

How did you determine how many sheets to the wind someone was?

He frowned, looking at Ryan hard enough that his eyebrows furrowed together, and Ryan looked back at him. They were sitting together on the couch, and Ryan’s feet were in Shane’s lap as always. The heat of his skin through the denim was like the sun through a window; warm and almost enough to incinerate. 

“What’s going through your giant dome?” Ryan pressed his socked foot against Shane’s chest, his toes wrinkling the fabric. His pants rode up to reveal a few tantalizing inches of ankle, and some part of Shane felt like a Victorian gentleman. Here he was, letching after an ankle. 

“How many sheets,” said Shane. 

Confusion rolled off of Ryan like fog (at least Shane thought it was confusion - he was pretty drunk), and Shane prodded Ryan in the chest with one long finger. His hands were so much bigger than Ryan’s - he covered his hand with the afghan that he kept over the back of the couch and pressed their hands together. 

Ryan squeezed his fingers through the blanket, and Shane marveled at the difference in size. Ryan was not a small man, by any means, but Shane still towered over him. He didn’t out-bulk Ryan, but… well, there was a definite height difference. Ryan could heft Shane over his shoulder, but… still. 

“Any reason for the blanket?” Ryan ran a finger along the edge of it, but he didn’t complain. None of their skin was touching.

“I’m drunk right now,” Shane said, deciding to go for blunt instead of nice. “If I touch you, I might end up projecting into your mind. Which would be… complicated.” He squeezed Ryan’s hands again as Ryan pulled his feet out of Shane's lap. Shane immediately missed the contact. 

“Complicated,” Ryan echoed, looking thoughtful. “Why?” His thumb passed over the back of Shane’s knuckles through the blanket. 

“Why what?” Shane was tempted to let the blanket drop, to press his skin against Ryan’s. But he didn’t trust his control when he was this drunk. He shifted on the couch and paused: when had he gotten hard? Probably when he’d been looking at Ryan’s biceps, or maybe when his mind wandered to… various things.

“Why complicated?” Ryan raised an eyebrow, and looked like he was trying to look alluring. He mainly looked like he was trying not to start laughing. Hopefully Ryan wasn’t laughing at this.

“Because,” said Shane. “Certain things are… you know, you need to be used to wandering around the dusty corners -”

“Yes, yes, the dusty corners of the mind,” said Ryan. “You’ve said that before. You’re getting repetitious, big guy.” 

“I’m drunk,” Shane counterd. “How good are _you_ at being original while drunk?”

“I’ll have you know I’m at my _most_ original while drunk,” Ryan said, gesticulating emphatically. His hand nearly brushed against Shane’s cheek, and Shane was drunk enough to almost throw caution to the wind and lean into it. Then: “wait a minute.”

“Mm?”

“You said that reading someone's mind was like listening to music from a different room,” said Ryan. “How is it like exploring the dusty corners?”

Shane frowned. “You're thinking about it too literally,” he informed Ryan, trying to inject gravitas into his voice. It was hard to have gravitas when he was this drunk. How could he even _be_ this drunk? He wasn’t someone who got drunk, and _yet_. Here he was. Drunk. 

“How literally should I be thinking of it, then?” Ryan was being entirely too reasonable. Or possibly Shane was drunk enough to think anything was reasonable. Regardless, it was all fucking… something. 

“I don’t fucking know,” groused Shane. He wanted to touch Ryan’s face - he wanted to kiss Ryan’s mouth, feel the dry warmth of Ryan’s lips against his. 

“I didn’t know you were a belligerent drunk,” said Ryan, amused.

“You didn’t know I was any kind of drunk,” Shane countered. “Drunk as the verb, not as the noun.”

“I _knew_ you meant it as the verb,” Ryan said. “God, you’re such a pedant. You’re the only person I know who’d go on that kinda tangent while drunk.”

“Alcohol makes me more pedantic,” Shane said, with some authority. “It’s why you gotta keep me away from it.”

“What, you turn into such an insufferable know-it-all that you’re in danger of getting your teeth kicked in?” Ryan raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to look sophisticated. He was radiating… something. Shane knew there was an emotion there, he could sense it, but he didn’t know what it was. It was like trying to read the aurora borealis - it wasn’t there to be read, it was just _there_. 

“Something like that, yeah,” said Shane. “I’ve got a lot of insufferable know-it-all in me.”

“You’ve got a lot of things in you,” said Ryan, and now he looked thoughtful. 

“Was that supposed to be a dirty joke?” Shane put his hand over his chest, in mock offense. “Why Ryan Bergara, I do declare!” 

“I didn’t intend it to be a dirty joke,” said Ryan, “but since you’re taking it that way….” He let the sentence trail off. 

“You’ve got a dirty mind,” Shane informed Ryan. “A dirty, dirty mind.”

“You were just talking about traversing the dusty corners of the mind or some shit like that,” said Ryan, and he leaned back into the couch, his eyes half shut. “That implies that all minds are dirty.”

“There you go, being too literal,” said Shane. “There’s a difference between the dusty parts of the mind, and the dirty parts.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the difference?” Ryan crossed his arms, affixing Shane with a Look. 

“The dirty bits are the bits filled with smut and deviancy,” Shane said, his tone downright _lofty_. “The dusty bits are the ones that just don’t get visited that often.”

“So they’re not the same thing?”

“Nope,” said Shane. In his mind, at the very least, they were very different. The lewd bits of _his_ mind didn’t get a chance to develop any dust. He visited them… well, he visited a lot. A whole lot. 

“What’s the difference?” Ryan was being stubborn. 

“One of them is full of filth and one of them is unused,” said Shane, irritability creeping into his voice. “It’s fine.” 

“I’ve never seen the dusty corners of _your_ mind,” said Ryan, and he was looking at Shane sidelong. “Y’know, big guy, you’ve seen all the gross shit that dances through mine. Why haven’t I had the front seat to _your_ various perversions?” 

Shane flushed, all the way down to his chest. “I’m, uh... would you believe me if I said that I only ever fantasize about you?” He was lying through his teeth and Ryan knew it, and he knew that Ryan knew it, and Ryan knew that he knew that Ryan knew it, and he knew - 

“Shane,” said Ryan, “if you’re going to feed me shit, at least put it on a plate first.”

“Oh my god,” said Shane, and he wrinkled his nose. “Did you _really_ have to put it like that?!” 

Ryan shrugged. “I’ve got a way with words,” he said.

"Put it on a plate," Shane said, wrinkling his nose. "Really?"

Ryan snorted. "I think you're changing the subject," he told Shane.

"What am I changing the subject from?" 

"The fact that you've never told me any of your fantasies," said Ryan, and he was holding on to it now like a bulldog, metaphorical jaws clenched around Shane's metaphorical ankle. 

"I... they're...." Shane trailed off. How to put it into words? _I'm ashamed of my fantasies because they show just how much of a creep I am_ would probably scare Ryan off. He’d always been good at redirecting people when it came to offering up his own fantasies. For all that Shane was used to exploring other people's minds, he kept his under pretty tight lock and key. And okay, sure, he had some more... vanilla fantasies, fantasies that he would have normally shared, but... well. Ryan had shared his innermost weird shit. It felt unfair to offer up some "this might be neat" ideas next to _that_.

"Lay it on me, big guy," Ryan said, and looked over at Shane with those dark eyes of his. 

"Some of them are less... publicly acceptable," Shane said, trailing off and blushing furiously. He groped around for his glass and took a slug of bourbon, more to avoid Ryan's gaze than because he wanted a top up. 

The alcohol burned a bit, and the oaky, vanilla taste settled onto his tongue and up his sinuses. 

"What kind of publicly unacceptable are we talking about, here?" Ryan didn't look nervous, and he didn't seem to be feeling anything particularly negative. 

"The kind that would make our friends look at me funny," said Shane. He leaned back and covered his face with both hands, letting the couch support his back. 

"Dude," said Ryan. " _Dude_." Now he was radiating indignation - Shane could tell even as drunk as he was. "You have _seen_ the kinds of sick shit that I get off to."

"Well, yeah, but that isn't related... like, to... y'know, structural inequalities, or stereotypes, or shit like that." Shane's voice was muffled. "I'm probably aiding the patriarchy, or... something."

"What kind of upholding structural inequalities are we talking about, exactly?" There was a note of something that Shane couldn't place in Ryan's voice, but suspicion was beginning to rise off of Ryan like strong cologne in an elevator. If Shane didn't say something soon, they'd both be suffocated by it. 

"... I want to be looked at," Shane said into his hands, while there was still air in the room. 

"What?" Now the suspicion was being replaced by... well, something else. It was filtered through Shane's drunk perceptions, and thus might as well have been in ancient Sumerian. 

"I want to be looked at," Shane said again. "I want people to... to notice me." 

"How is that upholding structural inequality?" There was a rustling sound, as if Ryan was running his fingers through his hair. 

"Because... like... urgh." Shane made a frustrated noise. "Because people like me don't get looked at."

"Shane, you're almost six and a half feet tall. Everyone looks at you." 

"Well, okay, yes, but not like... that." Shane made a vague hand motion, and used the chance to peek at Ryan. 

Ryan didn't look too angry. He just looked confused. He seemed to be feeling something like bafflement. "What do you mean, 'like that'?"

"I want to be... like... people look at me because I'm tall," Shane said, and he was floundering. "I don't want them to look at me and think, tall."

"Do you want them to look at you and think short?" Ryan sounded lost.

"I want them to look at me and... want." It sounded dumb when he put it like that, didn't it? Dumb, and so selfish. 

"Want?" 

"Want." 

"Do you think that people don't want you now?" 

"I think they want me, but not like how I want them to want me," said Shane. "At least... some of the time." He was too drunk to be having this conversation, and everything was a bit fuzzy around the edges. "Sometimes I don't want to do the wanting. I want to... I...." He made a vague hand gesture. "Want" didn't sound like a word anymore. 

"You...?" Ryan made an encouraging noise. It was a bit like going to therapy, only he was drunk, the therapist was drunk, and he also knew about the therapist's weird gore fetish. So it wasn't actually anything like going to therapy, come to think of it. 

"This isn't working," Shane groused, and then he did something stupid. Something _magnificently_ stupid, stupendously stupid, the kind of stupid they probably wrote songs about, if people ever wrote songs about stupid. 

Shane reached out and put his hand on Ryan's face - his bare hand, Ryan's bare face. Ryan's breath was hot and misty against his palm, and Ryan's eyebrow was ticklish against his fingertips. Ryan's head was humming with emotion and it was already crashing down on Shane's head like the first few items tinkling out of a closet, harbingers of the avalanche to come. 

And then, instead of shoring up his mind or passively letting Ryan's mind into his... he pushed. He practically _shoved_ , slamming his thoughts and his feelings into Ryan. It was probably a lot for a telephasiac. Shane could feel what Ryan was feeling, at least a little bit, and he was aware of Ryan's heart beating faster and his muscles tensing up. Shane held on to his own desire by the skin of his teeth and let the little bits and pieces of his various fantasies play out. Ryan's thoughts were buzzing under his own, like rapids under a bridge. 

"Oh," Ryan said thickly, then; "show me. Since you can, I mean. Show me... show me a fantasy of yours. Please?" He was speaking with his mouth, and the ghosts of his vocal cords tickled in Shane’s throat. 

_what fantasy_ Shane didn't say it, he just sent it - no words, just the shape of the question. 

“The one that makes you come the hardest,” said Ryan, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. 

Um.

Fuck. 

Shane closed his eyes and he leaned in closer, his mind still as open as… well. There were a lot of similes crowding to get out. He pressed his forehead against Ryan’s, his nose against Ryan’s cheek, and he gave another mental shove.

_bent over the desk he’s pounding my cunt he’s so much bigger than me fuck yes use me your broad chest forcing me into the desk your big hands on my hips pulling me where you want your hips working shoving your thick cock into my tight cunt it's so wet smeared across my inner thighs you’re so big I’m so small keep using me I’m just a thing for your cock just use me please fuck yes yes yes push it in push it in push it_

Ryan jerked back, shaking. “Jesus Christ,” he said, and his voice cracked. “Wow.” 

“I’m gross,” Shane said, his voice rough. “I’m gross, and I -”

Ryan kissed him on the mouth, and Ryan’s mind pressed against his - clumsily since he didn’t have much experience doing this kind of thing, but it was Ryan’s mind against his own, sliding in 

_like a cock in my eager wet cunt_

and then the fantasy changed. 

Ryan’s mind was pressed into Shane’s and his tongue was in Shane’s mouth, and in the fantasy, Shane was lifted onto the desk. Shane’s legs were pushed open, and his cunt was achingly empty. Ryan’s tongue was inside of him and it was almost too much, because it was the sense memory of eating pussy and his imagination of what being eaten out would be like, and in the fantasy he was so short that his legs didn’t touch the ground. His feet were on Ryan’s back as Ryan sucked on his clit. In the real world Ryan sucked on Shane’s tongue, and the sensory doubling made Shane lightheaded.

The alcohol was running through him, and the fantasy in his head… changed, the rapid-fire imagery flickering to something else the way it always did when he jerked off, and was this jerking off? It was like jerking off, only Ryan was in his lap. When had that happened?

They were touching each other, and for once it was as if _Shane’s_ thoughts were too big for his own mind, but Ryan’s mind was mixed in and he was clearly amused. At least, Shane was pretty sure it was amusement. He was still more than a little bit drunk. But Ryan’s… self was in him and it was safe, it was okay, and he could almost _feel_ Ryan’s amusement. 

_what’s so funny_

_this is your giant secret you big idiot show me more_

And Shane… changed the scene. A new scene, but similar. Setting wasn’t important, story wasn’t important, all that mattered was

_pushed into the wall coat pulled open shirt pushed up cold air on my belly cold fingers in my hot cunt hot mouth on my own sobbing as I come again and again your big chest pressing me into the wall tower over me and fuck me with your cold cold fingers_

In the fantasy, Shane rode three fingers that were like ice in his cunt, hot breath and a cold nose on his face as whoever-it-was bent over him. In reality, Ryan’s nails dug into Shane’s back and his lips were chapped against Shane’s. And in the fantasy it was suddenly Ryan - Ryan’s cold fingers, Ryan’s other hand on Shane’s hip. In the fantasy _and_ in reality, Shane fumbled for Ryan’s cock, squeezing it in his hand and passing his thumb over the head. In the fantasy it was almost steaming hot compared to the cold air. In reality, it was a cock - not steaming or freezing, just itself. 

A thick, throbbing cock in Shane’s hand, and the undercurrent of Ryan’s thoughts throbbing in time with his heartbeat. In the fantasy… fuck.

_push it in push it in put it in me use me yes do it pull my leg up and just slide it in slide it in god please do it do it just slide it in please please fuck slide it in slide it in_

In the fantasy he was being fucked by someone bigger, who saw him and wanted him and took what they wanted without caring what he wanted, because they wanted him that badly. They wanted him for his body, and in the fantasy it wasn’t the gawky, elongated thing he had now. It was small and curvy, with proportionate legs and a hot, wet cunt between them. And that was the rub, wasn’t it? He was ashamed of wanting to be wanted, he was ashamed that he seemed to perceive that being wanted meant looking that _specific_ way, and the shame had gotten mixed in to make it hotter, and -

 _you’re such a midwesterner there’s snow in your fucking jerk-off fantasies_

Ryan’s thoughts were tinged with more humor, and then he reached into Shane’s pants and pulled his cock out with shaking hands. He pressed their cocks together, and in the fantasy the person holding Shane against the wall did something especially clever with a thumb on his clit, and he _clenched_ , almost sobbed. 

_show me another_

They were forehead to forehead, one of Ryan’s hands holding their cocks together, the other clumsily unbuttoning Shane’s shirt to put his hand on Shane’s chest. He squeezed one pectoral and Shane moaned, his nipple hard against Ryan’s palm. In the fantasy one of his breasts was grabbed, squeezed hard enough to bruise, and Shane’s cunt squeezed tighter around the still-somehow-cold fingers. In reality, Shane’s cock twitched against Ryan’s and Shane perceived both it twitching, and Ryan’s perception of it twitching against his own. 

“Do you mean it?” Shane used his actual voice this time, and there was another ridiculous feedback loop of Ryan feeling it rumble through his chest, buzzing against his skin. 

“They’ve been pretty hot so far,” said Ryan, and he rolled his hips forward and pinched Shane’s nipple. “C’mon, big guy. Share.” 

Shane took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes. He searched around in his own mind for another fantasy, found one, almost discarded it, then gave a mental shrug. Ryan had shown him all the gory bits of his own subconscious; who was Shane to hide his own shame? So he pressed his forehead against Ryan’s a little harder and let the fantasy flow over him like water, let it happen as 

_cold car hood under my ass spread my legs who’s on top of me who fucking cares a hand around my throat a hand around my wrists a thick cock splitting me open as I stare at the moon and they’re so much bigger than me they fill me up they split me open sliding in and out fuck pulsing as they come and there’s another one already climbing on new cock just slide it in and fuck me there’s a line they all want me yes yes they want me they all_

Ryan moaned against Shane’s mouth, and his wrist sped up. In the fantasy, Shane’s thighs were pushed open and there was a mouth on his cunt, lapping up all that come, sucking his clit until he came like a burst of fireworks and then it was Ryan on top of him, Ryan’s thick, familiar cock sliding into him as everyone who watched _wanted_ : wanted to be in Ryan’s place, wanted to use Shane, wanted Shane for his body and not his mind or whatever Buzzfeed fame he had. Wanted Shane for something beyond his telepathy or his knowledge or humor, or even his height. 

And in the real world, Shane shuddered and sobbed as he came, his cock spitting come across Ryan’s fist, his whole body on edge as the pleasure broke and broke and broke, shattering him like a hammer to a windowpane. 

Ryan came while Shane’s nerves were still singing, which was no surprise as entangled as they were, and in the fantasy, Ryan was… Ryan 

_faster faster in and out kiss me kiss me fuck your pussy is so tight Shane let me fill you up you’re so beautiful I want you I want I want I want fuck_

and Shane’s shirt was sticky with their come, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. 

Shane was still clutching at Ryan’s hair and his thoughts were still a jumbled mess, even as they began to recede from Ryan’s mind like the water at low tide.

_now you know my dirty secret_

“It’s not that dirty,” said Ryan. “I mean… it’s kinda….” He paused, looking faintly embarrassed. “Do you want to, like… transition? Because if you do, I -”

“I don’t want to transition,” Shane said, his face heating up. That was one reason he was so embarrassed about all of this. “It’s… it’s just a sex thing.”

“Right,” said Ryan. "Just making sure.”

“I know it’s gross -” Shane began.

“Hey,” Ryan interrupted, “you didn’t call my whole gore… whatnot gross, why would you call some genderfuckery gross?” 

“Because it’s all so….” Shane made a vague hand gesture.

“So what?” Ryan looked down at his own come covered hand and made a face, then wiped it on his shirt. His cock was going soft against Shane’s, and the little point of skin to skin contact was a delight. 

“Porny? Exploitive?” Shane hadn’t ever tried to put this into words before, and he was finding it difficult. It didn’t help that he was still a little drunk. At least he wasn’t dealing with whiskey dick, right?

Ryan shrugged. “It was hot,” he told Shane. “And sure, it was porny, but what’s the _point_ of a jerk-off fantasy if it doesn’t get you off?” 

“I mean,” Shane said, and then he snickered in spite of himself. “I’m talking in circles, aren’t I?”

“Li’l bit,” Ryan said, patting Shane on the cheek and giving him a little blast of his feelings, like being hit with a supersoaker. 

_you big idiot what would I do without you_

Shane flushed, but he sighed again. “We should… change clothes,” he said. 

“Yeah,” said Ryan. “Then you can tell me some other deep-seated secrets.” 

“I told you my biggest fantasy,” Shane protested. “How is that not a deep-seated secret?!”

“I didn’t say that you haven’t told me _any_ ,” said Ryan. “I just want to know more of ‘em.”

“Nosy,” said Shane. 

“Says the telepath,” said Ryan. 

“I feel like that’s… something,” said Shane. “But I’m not sure what.”

“Have another drink, maybe you’ll figure it out,” Ryan advised, leaning over to reach for the bottle. 

Shane couldn’t really find a good argument against that, either. He wiped his sticky hand on his dirty shirt, and he grabbed his glass, and held it out for Ryan to fill. He wasn’t really one for drinking, normally. But if tonight was any indication… maybe he was going to start.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic? 
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different? 
> 
> Come talk to me on my twitter, TheseusInTheMaz (no "e" at the end).


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